


He's a Maniac

by sharkie335



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-17
Updated: 2010-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:31:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie335/pseuds/sharkie335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam couldn't help feeling like Dean was a maniac - completely and absolutely insane.  And he was going to yell at him about it, just as soon as he saved Dean's <i>ass</i> from the demon currently playing games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's a Maniac

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Written for the ficrocksthe80s challenge over on InsaneJournal, My song was "Maniac" by Michael Sembello. Lyrics can be found here.

Sam couldn't help feeling like Dean was a maniac - completely and absolutely insane. And he was going to yell at him about it, just as soon as he saved Dean's _ass_ from the demon currently playing games.

"Dean," he yelled, trying to get him out of the line of fire. Sam only had one shot at this, and currently Dean was between him and the succubus.

Dean laughed, a scary sound, and yelled back, "Not right now, dude. Me and Ms. Mary, here, have a date." Eyes still locked on the succubus, he said to her, "Let's dance, bitch." She laughed as well, talons flashing as she swiped at Dean's face, missing by inches.

He dodged, ducking under her swinging hands and lashing out with his right hand, scoring a long line down her arm with the silver knife he held. She hissed, long forked tongue like a snake's coming out. Her next swing came even closer, catching the edge of Dean's jacket and ripping it. "You're going to pay for that," he spat.

Moving around, Sam tried to get a good shot at the succubus. Dean _knew_ that the only way to kill her was with fire, so why was he insisting on getting up close and personal with her? Damn him, any way, for his stubborn insistence on doing everything his own way.

For long minutes, Sam watched as Dean ducked and weaved around her, knives flashing in the dim light. Sam had to admit that Dean was good. The succubus was carrying several long cuts, each bleeding freely. But the demon had supernatural strength and endurance on her side, and all she had to do was wait for Dean to tire. And tiring he was. He was already moving slower, and Sam could see that it was only a matter of time.

This time, when her claws came down, Dean wasn't fast enough to duck out of the way. She caught him on one shoulder, slashing over his chest and down to his stomach. Dean dropped like a stone, and Sam had to force himself to focus. He couldn't throw himself at Dean the way he wanted, not with the demon still on her feet. "Hey, bitch," he yelled, pulling her attention away from Dean.

She turned to face him, wings mantling, just as he ignited the makeshift flamethrower. When the fire hit her, she ignited like paper, burning with an inhuman shriek, but Sam's attention was already off her and on to his brother.

Dodging past where she had collapsed to the floor, still burning, he ran to Dean's side. "Dean! Dean!" he cried, ripping open Dean's jacket to try and get to the wound to see how bad it was.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, pushing himself up to a sitting position with his good arm. "I'm good. Did you get the bitch?"

"Yeah, I got her." Sam pulled the flask of holy water out of his back pocket and upended it over the cut. It smoked and steamed as the holy water killed the demon influence in the deep wound. It was bleeding freely, and Sam pulled off his flannel shirt, folding it into a pad that he pressed down. Dean swore, his good arm giving out, and collapsed back to the floor. "This is gonna need stitches," Sam said.

"Well, shit," Dean said. Then his eyes grew wide. "Shit, Sam, we need to get out of here - the floor's starting to catch." Sam turned to look at the demon, which was still burning merrily, and crap, Dean was right. Hooking his hand under Dean's good arm, he pulled him to his feet and then ducked under so that he could hold Dean up.

They got to the car with little fanfare, and one good glare kept Dean from doing anything stupid like demanding to drive. "Hospital?" Sam asked.

"Nah. That would mean answering too many questions," Dean answered. "You can stitch me up back in the hotel room."

Sam hated stitching Dean up, but he was right. The cut looked like it was caused by a knife, and they couldn't afford for the police to be called. He steered the Impala with tight, controlled movements, careful not to exceed the speed limit and attract the attention of any cops that might be around. "Man, you drive like somebody's _grandmother_ ," Dean groused, but Sam just ignored him, chalking it up to the pain that Dean had to be in.

When they finally got to the motel, he came around the car and helped Dean get up, pulling him out of the passenger seat and assisting him into their room. Thanking a deity that he wasn't sure he believed in that they had a first floor room, he led Dean right to the bathroom without stopping, getting him situated on the toilet, and then backtracked to get the first aid kit.

Opening it, he found the vial of vicodin. Giving Dean two, he watched as Dean swallowed them dry. He really wanted to give them time to work, but Dean was still losing blood, and he was starting to look pale and shocky. "This is going to hurt," he said softly, getting out the needle and thread, as well as the bottle of whiskey.

"I know. Just get it over with, would you?"

Offering the bottle to Dean first, he let him take a deep swig of it. Taking it back, he counted down from three, and then poured it over the cut. Dean swore and clutched at his own thigh with his good hand, making Sam wince in sympathy. Kneeling in front of him, he looked over the cut. The deepest part was over the shoulder, and it gradually became shallower, so Dean wasn't going to need as many stitches as he had originally thought.

Moving swiftly and steadily, he began to stitch the edges of the cut together. Dean took it stoically, only the twitching of his jaw giving away how much it must hurt. By the time he finished, the vicodin and the booze had caught up to Dean, who was listing to the right.

Setting aside the needle, he climbed back to his feet and stretched his back. A neat line of stitches came down over Dean's shoulder and down nearly to his nipple. "Okay, let's get you cleaned up and then into bed." Taking a washcloth, he cleaned the blood off Dean and then bandaged the cut, leading him out to the bed.

He managed to get Dean lying down, and then sat on the edge of the bed, linking their hands together. "What the hell were you thinking?" he asked Dean. "You could have gotten yourself killed before I could torch that thing."

Dean sighed. "I was just having some fun, dude. Let it go. The bitch is dead, I'm not, it's all good."

Sam gave a matching sigh. He really wanted to argue the point with Dean, but with Dean stoned on the meds, there wasn't much point. Instead, he laid down so he could watch Dean breathe, reassuring himself that once again, Dean was all right.

But tomorrow morning? They were really going to have to talk.


End file.
